The Marriage Market Read online

  James reached forward to clasp her hand. “I am sure that your father would be very proud of you, Jemma. You have endured much unhappiness in your life, but instead of succumbing to a life of mourning, you use your talents and resources to build a business and to live as you see fit. You are to be admired, Jemma. And what is wrong with appreciating beautiful things, if they give a little enjoyment to life?”

  Jemma’s eyes became moist during this speech. “Thank you, James. You do not know how much it means to me to hear you say so. Your friendship is very precious to me.”

  “Very well, then. Raise your head, fasten a smile on your lovely face, and watch the cream of Bath society bathe in your glory tonight. I shall follow meekly behind and try not to be trampled by your admirers.”

  Jemma threw her arms around him, holding him tightly for a moment, before falling back laughing into her seat. She spent the rest of the drive composing herself, while James regarded her thoughtfully.

  Chapter Seventeen ‒ Lady Hélène’s Ball

  The couple had timed their arrival well. The initial crush of party-goers had slowed when they appeared at the entrance to the ballroom where Lord Harold and Lady Hélène waited for their guests. Jemma made a deep curtsy and James bowed. The crowd turned as her ladyship exclaimed in ringing tones, “It is the beautiful Mrs. Greene. We meet at last. I am delighted to know you, Mrs. Greene. You look exquisite in your wondrous gown. Is she not enchanting, Lord Harold?”

  Lord Harold’s hearing was no longer acute, but his eyesight was as sharp as ever as he regarded Jemma appreciatively. “You look very well, madam. It is Mrs. Greene, is it? I am always pleased to have a beautiful woman grace my home. Who is this with you? Oh, it’s Mr. Wovington. I remember you from that business with my brother-in-law. You were quite clever in that undertaking, sir. Good man. Come in and help yourselves to a bowl of punch, or maybe something stronger, eh?”

  Lady Hélène left her post to escort Jemma into the room. “I have a friend who longs to meet you, my dear. Let me present you to the Duchess of Beaufort. Duchess, this is Mrs. Jemma Greene.”

  Jemma curtsied before a mature woman whose hair was still worn powdered and upswept. Her dress of green silk was similarly uninspired, but she counteracted the drabness of her accoutrements with a necklace of fat pearls and glittering sapphires. The duchess appraised her through a lorgnette as Jemma rose from the floor.

  “Mrs. Greene, I am happy to know you. What a splendid gown you are wearing. I am practically blinded by the glint. Where ever did you find such sumptuous material?”

  “From a clever weaver in Paris, your ladyship. He was once employed by the French royal family.”

  “How intriguing. I am sure that not every complexion would be flattered by such a colour, however. Do you think that I could dare to wear such a dress?”

  Jemma took a step backward and considered the angular woman with a practised eye. “The cloth would look well on you, your ladyship, but I think that a rich russet colour would complement your complexion even better.”

  “Really, Mrs. Greene? I have never worn such a bold colour. What colour gemstones would you recommend for such a dress?” The duchess took Jemma’s arm and chattered about clothes as they strolled about the room.

  Lady Hélène smiled and turned to James. “Will you escort me back to his lordship, Mr. Wovington? I think that Mrs. Greene will be occupied for the next little while.” James bowed and conducted her back to her spouse.

  “Your friend looks extraordinary, Mr. Wovington,” she added as they walked. “I can hear the thoughts of the other ladies. They are wishing that they were brave enough to wear such a gown. Tonight she has set a new standard for fashion. If I did not admire her so myself, I, too, would be feeling a little envious.”

  “Ridiculous, Lady Hélène, you are always on the forefront of fashion yourself. You are an ornament to any assembly you favour with your presence.”

  “Ah, Mr. Wovington, are you sure that you do not have a little French blood in you? You flatter as well as a Frenchman.”

  “A high compliment, indeed, coming from your ladyship.”

  Lady Hélène tapped him lightly with her fan as they climbed the stairs to the doorway. “You might wish to attend to your friend, sir. I see some wolves approaching the lamb.”

  James turned to look for Jemma in the crowd. From his elevated position, he could see her conversing with a pair of young ladies while a trio of gentlemen were converging on them from behind. James was acquainted with the predatory nature of the gentlemen, and made his way briskly down to her through the crowd. Jemma turned to greet him and introduced him to her two young acquaintances, a Miss Somerset and a Miss Amelia Somerset, nieces of the duchess. They bobbed him a curtsy.

  Miss Somerset said, “How do you do, sir? We spied Aunty with Mrs. Greene and asked to be introduced. We have never seen such an elegant gown before, have we Amelia? Not even in London.” Miss Amelia smiled her agreement.

  Jemma replied, “What a generous compliment, ladies. But I must return the favour. Your gowns are both very becoming, and I truly admire the artistry of whoever dressed your hair.”

  The older sister simpered and was about to say more when her aunt summoned the girls from across the room. “We will call upon you next Tuesday, Mrs. Greene, if you will be at home?”

  “I look forward to your visit Miss Somerset, Miss Amelia,” she responded as the girls hurried away.

  One of the trio of gentlemen tapped James on the shoulder and bowed. “Sir,” James said with a nod before steering Jemma in the opposite direction. The gentleman looked after them with an opened mouth.

  “Would you like a bowl of punch, Jemma? By the way, I hope that you have saved the first and last dances for me,” James said as Jemma glanced back over her shoulder.

  The couple crossed into a side chamber where punch was being served from a table draped in crisp white linen. James accepted two glasses of punch from a liveried servant, and they followed the strains of music into another room. It contained a small concert hall with a distinguished-looking woman and a quartet of musicians about to perform. Two empty chairs went unclaimed at the back of the room, and James and Jemma slid into them. A hush fell over the audience as the soprano began to sing, and she entertained the rapt crowd for the next thirty minutes.

  Over the enthusiastic applause, Jemma said, “She was wonderful, wasn’t she, James? I haven’t heard any better even in London. But I did not expect to hear a concert tonight.”

  “Lady Hélène usually provides additional entertainment at her soirées. No doubt there are card tables set up somewhere for the non-music lovers. The dancing will begin a little later in the evening. Would you like to take a stroll in the garden while we wait?”

  Jemma nodded and took James’ arm. They followed some of the other guests down a mirrored hallway to arched doors leading outside. Daylight had faded to dusk, and the manicured gravel paths were illuminated by torchlight. Footmen were serving flavoured ices from a table in the courtyard.

  “How refreshing,” Jemma said as she spooned a berry-flavoured concoction into her mouth. “What a lovely evening it is, James.” She looked up into a star-studded sky, a slight breeze stirring the curls protruding from her turban.

  “Even the weather co-operates with Lady Hélène soirées,” he replied. They strolled past shrubs shaped to resemble animals, enjoying the sweet air and stepping aside to allow more energetic couples to pass. One such couple paused as they drew abreast of James and Jemma.

  The woman said, “Mr. Wovington, how nice to see you again. You remember my husband, don’t you?” The lady was tall and stately, dressed in an empire gown with matching overdress and train. The gentleman was equally elegant in a red jacket trimmed with gold buttons and matching red pantaloons. The two men bowed while the lady eyed Jemma.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Hadley. What a pleasure to see you and your husband again. Allow me to introduce Mrs. Jemma Greene. Jemma, this is Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Hadley
. Mrs. Hadley is a patron of St. George’s Church, where she is renowned for her fund-raising efforts on behalf of India’s orphans.”

  Jemma smiled and nodded. “What a worthwhile cause, Mrs. Hadley. I have never been to India myself, but I have heard sad stories about the poor and orphaned in India.”

  “Yes, it is heart-breaking to see the children’s living conditions. I am arranging a fund-raising tea for the end of the month. I would be glad to sell you a subscription, if you care to attend?”

  “I would be delighted, madam.”

  “Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you there. Perhaps you could bring a party of your friends?”

  Mr. Hadley, whose attention had wandered during this exchange, interrupted his wife. “Enough charity work for tonight, my dear. We are at a ball, not a church. Tell me, Mrs. Greene, do you dance?”

  “At every opportunity,” Jemma responded. “I have an opening for the fifth, if you are inclined, Mr. Hadley?”

  “Quite so. I would be enchanted,” the gentleman said with a bow.

  James noticed Mrs. Hadley’s mouth snap shut at her husband’s rude dismissal, and quickly added, “Mrs. Hadley, could you accommodate me with a dance as well?”

  “As it so happens, Mr. Wovington, I also have the fifth available.”

  “Excellent,” her husband said. “We shall meet up with each other later. Until then . . . .” The Hadleys took their leave, the lady walking ahead of her husband with an angry tilt to her head.

  “Oh dear,” Jemma said. “I don’t think Mrs. Hadley cared for the way her husband dismissed her charity work.”

  “Nevertheless, that was a fortunate introduction, Jemma. St. George's has many influential patrons.”

  “Yes, it is a very grand church, James, but I prefer St. Peter’s. It is cosier than St. George's.”

  “As do I, but the good ladies of St. George’s are very effective in raising funds for many worthwhile charities. Some of the money even remains in England. India is not the only country whose orphaned children live in shocking conditions.”

  They continued their stroll through the gardens until they came to the famous fountains. White plumes of spray shot up into the night sky, drenching the marble statuary in the basins beneath. Potted flowering trees were interspersed between the fountains and perfumed the night air.

  “This is a little piece of heaven, James,” Jemma said. “The fountains, the moonlight, the flowers – it is all delightful. How can we possibly leave this to return to the dancing?”

  “Come and sit with me a few minutes, Jemma.” James guided her to a sheltered bench where they sat together in companionable silence. Other guests strolled past from time to time, and they heard snatches of conversation from couples on nearby benches. After a while the other guests began to leave, however, and James and Jemma were alone. Jemma shivered.

  “Are you cold, my dear?” James asked. The air had cooled and the breeze had picked up.

  “Just a little, James. I wish I had brought my cloak with me.” She leaned against his shoulder and James draped an arm around her. “That's better,” she said with a sigh. James could smell the scent of roses rising from her skin. Almost of its own accord, his hand trailed down her shoulder to the bare part of her arm.

  Jemma turned her head and gazed into his eyes. A spark passed between them. Shaking her head, she smiled and rose. “Come, sir, you have promised me the first dance, and I will not be disappointed. I have heard that a dance with Mr. James Wovington is an experience not to be missed.”

  James curbed an impulse to pull Jemma back down onto the bench. Matching her light mood, he sighed dramatically. “If you wish to take the risk, my dear Mrs. Greene, I am happy to oblige, but do not blame me if you are ruined for dancing with any other partner for the rest of your life.”

  They regained the ballroom as other couples were arranging themselves on the dance floor. James led Jemma to a place at the end of the line and took his place across from her. The music commenced, the men bowed, and James stepped toward her. As she came forward to meet him, he whispered, “Take care. Watch out for your neighbour.”

  Jemma started at this bizarre message and stared after James as she returned to her place. Her eyes darted to her neighbour, a girl young enough to be attending her first ball. The girl was concentrating on the dancing and nodding her head slightly in time to the music. As soon as she had the opportunity to speak to James again, Jemma whispered, “Why, what is wrong with my neighbour?”

  James quickly replied, “She has a reputation for disasters on the dance floor.”

  Standing beside the young girl again, Jemma wondered what James meant. How poor a dancer could the girl be, and why should that matter to her? Jemma surreptitiously brushed the hem of her dress away from her neighbour, just in case. She did not want to risk a tear in her expensive gown. The young girl stepped forward, and Jemma looked across the floor at James. He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head in the other direction. Jemma nodded and turned to her other neighbour, a stout middle-aged woman whom she had never seen before. It was her neighbour’s turn to dance, and she struck out purposefully onto the floor, stomping heavily upon Jemma’s ankle with the thick heel of her shoe. Jemma gasped in pain, but the woman was oblivious to her injury and continued toward her partner. James broke from his place and strode to Jemma’s side.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, taking her arm.

  “I think that I had better sit down,” she said with a groan.

  James put an arm around her waist and helped Jemma to hobble off the dance floor. Together they crept to a chair, where James helped her to sit before kneeling to inspect the injury. The ankle had already begun to swell. It was not long before Lady Hélène joined them.

  “My dear Mrs. Greene, how are you?” her ladyship asked. “What an unfortunate accident – I saw it all. Mrs. Simon has the grace of an ox.”

  “I am afraid that it is throbbing rather smartly,” Jemma said.

  “We must get you to a private place where you can elevate that foot. Come, try to rise, and I will take you to my husband’s study. It is not far. You passed it by on the way to the ballroom.”

  Lady Hélène and James helped Jemma to stand, but she bit her lip as she put weight upon the ankle.

  “Let me carry you, Jemma,” James offered.

  “No thank you, James. Everyone will stare at us if you do. I’m sure that it’s just a sprain. Let me lean on you, and I will walk there.”

  Lady Hélène caught the eye of a footman and instructed him to fetch some ice and a cloth. “We will make a cold compress for your ankle. Come, Mrs. Greene. We will both support you.”

  Leaning heavily upon James’ arm with Lady Hélène at her elbow, Jemma limped slowly across the room to the door, the other guests clearing a path as they approached. When the trio reached the corridor, James said, “Enough,” and swung Jemma up into his arms. Turning toward their hostess, he asked, “Which way from here, Lady Hélène?”

  “Right down the hallway, the door over here,” she said, bustling ahead of them.

  The study was dark except for the illumination of a few candles. James carried Jemma to a couch and laid her gently upon it. He assisted her into a sitting position and placed a pillow behind her back. The footman hurried into the room with a cold compress, which he handed to James before lighting a fire in the grate.

  Lady Hélène moved the candelabra to the table beside the sofa and bent to remove Jemma’s slipper. “Poor chick, that looks painful. We will remove the stocking and apply the compress over the ankle. James, turn your back for a moment.”

  James turned away and heard the rustle of fabric. When he was allowed to turn around again, Jemma’s foot was elevated on a pillow and wrapped in the white cloth.

  “You are most kind, your ladyship,” Jemma said, “but I detain you from your other guests.”

  “They are quite well entertained for the moment. I am only sorry that you are so inconvenienced by that lump of a woman. She
has not even made an effort to find you and apologize for her clumsiness. I asked her tonight only because she is a cousin of my husband. But let us forget about her. You need something to put a little colour back in your cheeks. I will have Nash fetch some claret, and maybe some fruit and a little piece of cheese. Do not hesitate to ask Nash if there is anything else that you require. Take care, my dears, and I will check back upon you later.” She and the footman left the room together.

  “Well, James, this is not how I envisioned the evening going,” Jemma said with the flicker of a smile.

  “It is too bad, Jemma, but it is not all a loss. Your arrival made quite an impression, and you were noticed by both Lady Hélène and the duchess. I am sorry that this has spoiled your enjoyment of the evening, however.”

  There was a small knock at the door and Miss Somerset poked her head into the room. “We have just come to see if we can do anything for Mrs. Greene,” she said, venturing into the study. She turned to wave behind her, and Miss Amelia and two young gentlemen followed her into the room.

  “This is Mr. Wise and Colonel Hubert. Mrs. Greene and Mr. Wovington.” The men all bowed. “Amelia and I were engaged for the next dance, but we convinced our partners to come and see how you fared instead. Poor Mrs. Greene.”

  The footmen returned with a tray bearing two glasses of claret, some peaches, and a round cheese. He placed it on the table beside Jemma’s couch and inquired, “Shall I fetch more refreshments, madam?”

  “Yes, please do, Nash,” she responded.

  The two young ladies seated themselves beside Jemma while the men hovered behind them. “We saw the accident happen, did we not, Amelia? We were incensed. When we left the ballroom a few minutes ago, Lady Hélène had taken Mrs. Simon aside and was giving her quite a talking to.”